


the golden room

by orphan_account



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Angst, F/F, Fire Emblem: Three Houses Black Eagles Route, Fire Emblem: Three Houses Black Eagles Route Spoilers, This Is Sad, You've been warned
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-14
Updated: 2020-04-14
Packaged: 2021-03-02 01:08:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,991
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23656612
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Byleth recalls every life, every route she's taken. She also recalls all the times fate has ripped her from Edelgard.
Relationships: Edelgard von Hresvelg/My Unit | Byleth
Comments: 6
Kudos: 72





	the golden room

You may forget but

Let me tell you

this: someone in

some future time

will think of us

_Sappho_

“Have we met before?”

She almost doesn’t hear them over the roaring of her own blood. They’re innocent enough words, and despite no recollection within the white-haired girl’s eyes, Byleth wants to scream _yes._ Yes, because her heart is crumbling, and yes, because she’s gotten so accustomed to her laugh and scent and, gods, her _touch_ that she nearly grovels.

**→ I believe we haven’t.**

→ We have.

She sturdies herself. There’s nothing in those violet eyes – but still she is graced with the beginnings of a smile that do not quite reach the princess’s steady gaze. “I see. My name is Edelgard von Hresvelg, the heir to the Imperial throne. Adrestia thanks you.”

How many times has she heard those exact words? How many times now has she knocked that axe from Kostas’s hands, sent it reeling with the might of a hundred battalion soldiers, all so her senses can be sent into euphoria with those simple sayings of gratitude? Several lifetimes’ worth, she decides. And she’d do it again, if it means finally settling the regret that pools deep in her twisted guts.

Because if she is to be truthful with herself, she knows the blond man beside her, too. She’s held his hand enveloped between both of hers, felt the pulse of his beating heart, bared witness to his sickened mind. And she knows the one clad in yellow, with hair twisted into an all too-familiar braid. Knows his yearning for a greater tomorrow, for a unified land, and yet still she writhes and feigns ignorance.

She knows where it goes from here. Has tread this path many times, knows each twist and turn that comes with the unfolding of this wretched tale. Knows about the archbishop, and yet still:

→ The archbishop?

→ Lady Rhea?

When she’s left to the roaming of Garreg Mach, she doesn’t hesitate. Goes straight to the girl, lets her ears drink the honeysuckle drip of her voice. Smiles, nods, and pretends as if she has not heard every name that rolls off her tongue. The same names of the students she’s slaughtered before, at the doings of her own sword, and the metallic taste of blood rises upon Byleth’s lips. It takes all the mercenary can muster to keep her face carved of untouched marble.

She tried neutrality, after the first two incidents. Repressed memories conjure in her mind, of nails painted red with crimson, of the heart-wrenching task that had befallen her at Enbarr. _I wanted to walk with you._ That was what had stuck with her, more than the first time, more than the corpses that littered the battlegrounds. Those simple words of defeat, the sob that threatened itself like a dam that cracked over time from nature’s force. And then she had been left as sole ruler, when the one who had deserved to see her dream come to fruition lay rotting under Fódlan’s grounds. If there was one thing Byleth believed in, it was that nothing that had come to her was well deserved. The spillage of blood – even for the likes of a mercenary like her – were far too grand.

But even then, despite knowing what’s to come, she finds the name _Black Eagles_ forming on her lips when given the choice of which class she desires. It sets her heart ablaze, and it never quenches, even when she’s forced to relive the betrayal of Tomas, of Monica, and the falling of Jeralt.

It doesn’t quench either when she’s left in the Holy Tomb, with the world heavy upon her shoulders. When Edelgard lays herself bare, removes the hidden identity that is the Flame Emperor. Byleth sees Rhea at the corners of her vision, sees the all-too familiar rage that breaks out upon her once placid features. Byleth sees it now, for what it is: The archbishop is a creature of such force that it leaves even herself rooted with a stupendous terror. 

→ Kill Edelgard.

→ **I must protect Edelgard.**

_I will choose to stand by you._ The words play on a loop in her mind, and her feet are moving at what must be a godlike speed. She’s not sure the heels of her boots grace the sacred grounds even once until she stands, unwavering, knuckles ash white and gripping the cold shaft of her sword. She can feel it, there and then. Can feel the way Edelgard’s eyes bore into her skull, fixating on her as if she’s stripped herself to the bare flesh beneath, laid herself on a platter for the Empress to ravish. It’s enough to cause her fingers to tighten, knuckle bones bulging, and brows to drop downwards in what is a sight of defiance against the Church. She already knows her soul is damned in that moment. But deep down, she thinks it’s been damned since she first watched Edelgard fall. It seems like a millennium, and yet, it burns like fresh embers. She believes she might scorch her frigid self if she dwells too long on it.

What she isn’t prepared for is the grizzly sight of the Immaculate One. This knowledgeable tale has come to an end. She’s entrusted herself in Edelgard’s hands now, stepping into the unknown. It’s like the dawning of a new world for her, yet alas, she can’t help but feel the thrill of it all. She’s craving more of it.

She has chosen her path, and it is alongside the woman now at her hip.

At some point in the future she’s laying in her quarters. There’s heat upon her cheeks, and her hands twist in the air, as if she is braiding the silky tendrils of a phantom’s hair. There’s the vision of white locks, plush lips, violet eyes. A quaking sigh, and she’s kissing her. It’s not real life, and the lips against hers lack taste, lack warmth. But with her eyes closed, lashes tickling skin, it might as well be. She thinks she smells sweat, and lavender, and tastes Bergamot upon her pinkened tongue.

When she steadies her gaze again, she’s alone, and her mind recollects that the Empress is not here, but in the remainders of what was once the Cathedral. So she draws upon her overcoat, wraps it neatly, folds her arms across her breasts and tiptoes with the grace of a practiced thief out of the sleeping chambers. Makes her way across cobblestone, and the night breeze that whispers words of poetry in her ears stir the aqua-turned tendrils of her hair.

It’s not like a dream when she sees her. It’s more like the feeling of home, of knowing what you’ve done is right. Of knowing what’s in front of you is solid, and real, and so wholly comforting that she thinks she might break and cradle the woman there and now. Might whisper the stories of her past lives, might tell her how _sorry_ she is and that _I want to make it up to you._ But the soft smile she’s given at her emergence, like a thousand burning suns, is enough to make her wash away her worries.

Instead she decides to stand, shoulder to shoulder, and offer her indefinite attentions as Edelgard speaks solemnly.

“I didn’t want it to come to this. But war must have sacrifices to achieve the greater good. Even if it means killing those that were once your trusted allies.”

Byleth doesn’t need to pry to know what she’s talking about. It’s Dimitri, the Boar Prince, the one who the mercenary had known so intimately all those lifetimes ago. A glimpse of his hands crosses her mind, and the traces of the words _My beloved_ that she cannot recall but must have been said by him.

She doesn’t remember ever saying it back to him.

→ **Are you scared?**

→ Do you regret this?

The question causes the Empress to falter, and it takes several moments before Byleth hears her voice again. It lacks its usual zest, and she realizes that it has softened. It’s been a while since she heard it like this. When was the last time? She recalls it had been several moons ago, when El had met with her at night to thank her for help in their prior battle.

“Not so much that I am scared, but I am weary. Our battle is nearly over, and yet the blood of hundreds stain my hands. His is to join them, and then what shall he become? Another statistic?” Her lips now twist in distraught. “I am sure he does not think the same. My army has murdered his friends, his allies, and now he is the last standing.”

In a sense, the prince had become what Edelgard was for years. A solitary figure.

→ **We will win, and bask in the light of a new dawn.**

Two hands reach out into the dark, intertwining.

Days pass, and Byleth finds herself standing on the edges of a worn grave. _Sitri_. That’s what it says, and yet, she does not know the woman. Has heard only whisperings and short tales. What she’s really come for, is this:

_Jeralt._

She’s recalling the incident now. The demonic beasts, Monica, the rain. Through it all, there’s the ring, burning a hole in her back pocket. She holds it between her index and thumb, twirls it so that the sun catches attention, lights it ablaze. Silver flames.

There are thoughts, then. Calloused hands. Hair like snow. Eyes that strip her clean of her sins, her past regrets, the longings and troubles of war. And without hesitancy, she thinks:

→ Do you wish to spend your life with Edelgard?

→ **Yes**.

The day Byleth becomes alive, there is no sun, and the missing light is replaced by ravaging flames.

“When humanity stands strong and people reach out for each other...” The words Edelgard speaks fade, and the only sounds that Byleth can focus on is the blood that roars like ten thousand lions within her. She turns, catches the nod from the Empress, and before she knows what is happening, she is letting a scream rip from her lungs.

It’s a scream she can’t pinpoint the source of, can’t possibly fathom why it comes from her. But it happens, and it echoes, fills the air around her and swallows her whole. Screams at it all, at the fact that she has come _this far_ , at the fact she is finally _ending this._ She lodges the sword, feels it dig into the bones of the Immaculate One, tears apart flesh, and the warm tidal of green that flows from the open wounds coats her skin.

It’s only when the dragon stills, its heart finishing its last beat, that Byleth feels her legs give. Feels the age of living more lives than she should be given catch up to her. Simultaneously she feels ancient, and yet re-birthed, all at once.

Through it all, there are hands holding her. A shared warmth that she’s yearned for. Bergamot breath, and sweet nothings. Every whispered conversation, every moonlit tiding of turbulent emotion. How long has she dreamed of kissing those lips strung above her?

Her eyes close, and she thinks she hears Edelgard’s voice. Thinks she feels what must be the beginnings of rain, and yet – no – it is filled with heat. The Empress is crying upon her, and if the mercenary were to rise upon her knees now, it would look as if they were her own.

But instead something within her gives. The teal of her hair is blown away, lifts like disturbed dust on a windowsill, and within Edelgard’s fingers lay blue locks.

There’s a start that gives then. It dislodges her heart, sets it free, as if the Goddess herself has ripped it from her body’s clutches. Her organs, like clockwork, begin to stir within her.

For the first time, Byleth’s heart begins to beat.

**Author's Note:**

> This work was actually inspired by an art piece on Tumblr drawn by bearsketches. They were very lovely and granted me permission to write this, and I thank them because I had a blast creating this! The work in particular you can find here [and you should very much check out their other art and follow them!]: [CLICK FOR ART](https://bearsketches.tumblr.com/post/186886551868/an-edeleth-short-based-on-the-idea-that-byleth)


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